Well! one there is, or one shall be, TO A LADY ON LEAVING HER YES! I must go-it is a part That cruel Fortune has assign'd me,- Till o'er the space the water rises, That gives the restless wave its motion? TO A LADY, WITH SOME POETICAL Still in thy train must he appear, For ever gazing, smiling, talking? Who is to that dear heart a stranger, When night and death's dull image hide thee: Awake, it sleeps to all beside thee. Of all this fierce and jealous feeling, And see those smiles all sorrow healing? Lament that fate such friends should sever, TO SARAH, COUNTESS OF JERSEY, Or all the subjects poetry commands, Praise is the hardest nicely to bestow; So deals a thoughtless poet with his praise; And give the just proportion to my song? How speak of beauty, elegance, and wit, Yet fear at once t'offend thee and to wrong? Sure to offend, if far the Muse should soar, And sure to wrong thee if her strength I spare; Still, in my doubts, this comfort I exploreThat all confess what I must not declare. Yet, on this day, in every passing year, Poets the tribute of their praise may bring; Nor should thy virtues then be so severe, As to forbid us of thy worth to sing. Still I forbear for why should I portray Those looks that seize-that mind that wins the heart Since all the world, on this propitious day, Will tell how lovely and how good thou art. TO A LADY WHO DESIRED SOME VERSES AT PARTING OH! do not ask the Muse to show Or how we met, or how we part: The bliss, the pain, too well I know, That seize in turn this faithful heart. That meeting-it was tumult all— The eye was pleased, the soul was glad ; But thus to memory I recall, And feel the parting doubly sad. Yes, it was pleasant so to meet For us, who fear'd to meet no more, When every passing hour was sweet Sweeter, we thought, than all before. When eye from eye new meanings steal, When hearts approach, and thoughts uniteThen is, indeed, the time to feel, But, Laura! not a time to write. And when at length compell'd to part, When fear is strong, and fancy weak, When in some distant good the heart For present ease is forced to seek,When hurried spirits fall and rise, As on the changing views we dwell, How vainly then the sufferer tries In studied verse his pains to tell! Time brings, indeed, his slow relief, In whom the passions live and die; To paint the grief, or use the pen : And I must feel and grieve till then. LINES FROM A DISCARDED POEM [1817] ONE calm, cold evening, when the moon was high, And rode sublime within the cloudy sky, ON DEATH OF SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY Nov. 6, 1818 THUS had I written, so a friend advised, The best of guides to my assuming pen, Whom as the first of counsellors I prized, The best of fathers, husbands, judges, men. 'This will he read,' I said, ' and I shall hear Opinion wise, instructive, mild, sincere, For I that mind respect, for I the man revere.' I had no boding fear! but thought to see Those who were thine, who look'd for all to thee; And thou wert all! there was, when thou wert by, Diffused around the rare felicity Yes! I was proud to speak to thee, as one Who had approved the little I had done, And taught me what I should do!-Thou wouldst raise My doubting spirit by a smile of praise, Thou hadst the tear for pity, and thy breast Felt for the sad, the weary, the oppress'd! And now, afflicting change! all join with me, And feel, lamented ROMILLY, for thee. LINES Aldborough, October, 1823. THUS once again, my native place, I come Thee to salute-my earliest, latest home: Much are we alter'd both, but I behold In thee a youth renew'd-whilst I am old. The works of man from dying we may save, But man himself moves onward to the grave. A time like this, a busy, bustling time A wanton chaos in my breast raged high Again the Brothers saw their friend the priest Bad men are seldom cheerful; but we see. PAGE 241 191 594 292 43 285 6 298 581 417 5 11 152 174 330 583 303 118 346 580 551 466 1 Hail! contre-county of our land, and known I am of age, and now, no more the Boy I have remembrance of a Boy, whose mind I love not the satiric Muse. 'I met,' said Richard, when return'd to dine I'll know no more;-the heart is torn In a large town, a wealthy thriving place Know you the fate of Villars Leave now our streets, and in yon plain behold Like some poor bark on the rough ocean tost Minutely trace man's life; year after year PAGE 593 532 564 547 570 581 443 88 508 82 480 594 524 270 526 537 161 390 11 542 237 225 152 82 378 1 1 136 545 187 493 38 165 187 266 549 595 There was a widow in the village known 485 261 69 156 365 404 428 7 596 596 567 201 205 |